


and everything means everything

by vsyubs



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Crushes, Fluff, Ice Cream Parlors, Light Unexplored Angst, M/M, Mild Existentialism (But It's Comforting), Seasonal Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-13 13:39:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14749907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vsyubs/pseuds/vsyubs
Summary: Minghao, Vernon, and the seasons.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU to my amazing beta [jiren](https://twitter.com/juntrovert) who has been absolutely lovely and the most helpful throughout this whole thing. thank you for being fast and for putting up with my weird way of expressing things and telling me that sometimes.. things that are not weird.. are better. much love <3
> 
> second of all i'd like to thank coin abnd bleachers. love u jangly bitches. i have a third thing to say but i'll leave it at the end notes because ew clutter. 
> 
> anyway!
> 
> i hope you enjoy this sleep-deprived thing somehow. it literally caused me eye bags but it's my verhao baby so i love him

 

 

_**winter** _

_that’s okay, we can still talk_  
_about the snow_  
_it softens the whole planet_  


 

 

There are three things Minghao learned in the winter about the new transfer kid in his woodworking class:

One – he has has a _weird_ laugh.

Actually, he has multiple. And they’re all varying levels of strange. 

Minghao heard it on a Monday, during the second class in the middle of the second term of school. He was laughing at something Minghao said, and it was this clear, flat intonation of Ha-Ha-Ha, like he’s saying the word out loud on repeat. Minghao thought Vernon was making fun of him, but when he took a look at Vernon’s face, and the way it seemed to shine like a thousand suns, he felt like an idiot for ever thinking that in the first place. 

It’s not exactly hard to amuse Vernon Choi. He makes Minghao feel like a comedian. Time and time again, Minghao would say something, and Vernon would laugh. And time and time again, they’d be slightly different versions. A wonky giggle that cracked around the edges. Another one that’s softer, huskier. The other one was silent, open-mouthed, and scrunchy-faced. Vernon’s body would move with it, and he’d slap things.

Woodworking had never been more interesting.

Minghao hadn’t meant to take it, not really, but Mingyu had convinced him to do it with him, only to end up being put in a different time slot. Go figure. He doesn’t hate it, though. Vernon’s become the reason he somewhat looks forward to this class. They’re not even friends. Beside short one-sentence exchanges, they don’t have actual conversations. So, riddle Minghao that. Maybe it’s the ego boost that comes with Vernon’s laughing at everything that comes out of his mouth. 

“Not _again_ ,” Minghao mutters. The wood panel makes a sound as it falls face-down onto the table. He lets out a sigh. Outside, the snow has started falling.

Drumming his fingers on the tabletop in a feeble attempt to calm down, he peeks at Vernon standing on the other side of the table. Their usual table crew made up of Seungkwan and another boy Minghao could never remember the name of are absent today, leaving him and Vernon to take up all the table space. Vernon’s been working away at his own thing the whole time, head swaying ever so slightly to music pouring in through his headphones as he screws in the roof of what Minghao sees is a wooden model of an apartment. 

He tries to guess what Vernon listens to. Maybe ska. Maybe EDM. He looks like an EDM sort of person. What if it’s heavy metal? Minghao doesn’t really listen to music at all. Do violin compilations and video game soundtracks count? Either way, he’d take a book over a song any day. 

Vernon straightens up to lower his headphones and gives Minghao a smile when he sees him looking. Minghao tries to smile back but ends up getting distracted by a tuft of hair jutting out from the top of Vernon’s head. 

“Your hair’s sticking up,” he says instead. 

Vernon frowns. 

Minghao waves his fingers around his own head. “Like, around there.”

Vernon’s eyes widen just a tad. “Oh.” Slowly, he pats the top of his crown. He misses the cowlick each time. “Is it still there?” he asks. The cowlick bobs a little. 

“It’s, like, towards the back… higher… yeah, there.” If Seungkwan was here he'd start making fun of Vernon. 

Vernon gives up eventually, letting his hand drift back down onto his apartment. “I don’t like hair gel, so… I don’t use it.” 

“Me neither.”

He glances at Minghao’s would-be box, tilting his head, and Minghao looks down at it as well. “You know, I think it’d be easier to nail those parts together instead of screwing.” 

Minghao glances up at him. "Really?"

“You don’t have to.”

“Thanks, very helpful,” is what Minghao would say if it was Mingyu, but it isn’t, so he bites the inside of his mouth instead.

“I was gonna do it eventually,” Minghao says.

Vernon sets his hammer down. “Incoming.” 

He slides the hammer across the table, and it knocks against Minghao’s receiving palm. The teacher would probably tell him off for that if she saw. 

Minghao feels its weight in his palm, the vestigial warmth from Vernon’s grip.

He grabs a few nails from the small basket in front of him while Vernon leaves to go get another hammer. He takes a peek at his creation. Looking at it now, it’s pretty impressive. He’s sketched out little squares in white pencil all around the building. An overachiever? Or just really into crafting? 

“That doesn’t look like a box you’re making,” Minghao notes, when he returns.

“It’s an apartment.” _Tap-bang_. “That doesn’t look like an apartment you’re making.”

“It’s a box.” 

Vernon gives a funny little smile and a glance. “I know." 

Minghao blinks. "Okay. Good."

After a pause, Vernon says, "I like that your box is small.”

“It’s easier to make,” Minghao says. “I’m not very good at crafting.”

“Hm.”

“Do you like woodworking?” 

Vernon nods. “A lot.”

“Cool.” Minghao sets his nail in place. He has another question about his woodworking hobbies but another more important one surfaces. “I was wondering,” he says, and waits for Vernon to respond.

“Hm?”

Minghao hammers his nail in. “Why’d you move at such a weird time?”

Vernon twists his lips in thought as he draws another square on his apartment. “Yeah, I dunno, actually," he says. "I mean, I forget. Uh, it was my dad. His work schedule kinda gets random. He’s an art dealer. Sells paintings and stuff. Calligraphy. Sculptures. Art.” He snorts at having repeated the word.

“Oh,” Minghao says. His heart’s beating fast in his throat, but it’s not a completely bad feeling. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a part of him that wants to say something, ask another question, make him laugh some more _,_ but when he looks up moments later Vernon’s got his headphones back on and he’s carving out little windows on his apartment, mouth ajar with concentration. On his teeth, Minghao can see retainers – the clear ones, the almost invisible ones.

 

 

 

 

 

“Took you long enough,” Mingyu says.

Minghao breezes past him, pushing through the cafeteria doors. They’re always a little sticky, as if the paint never completely dried down. He wonders if they’ll ever get it fixed or changed. 

“I think I almost got frostbite,” Mingyu goes on. “Pretty sure my right toe died.” 

“You could’ve waited inside.” Over the busy din of the cafeteria Minghao can hear Mingyu’s shaky exhale as warm air overtakes their limbs. “I told you I was gonna be a little late.”

“You told me to wait where I can see you.”

“You didn’t have to wait _outside_.”

“Well I did, and now I’m freezing, so can you get my tray because my hands are too cold.” 

“Why are you like this.” Minghao grabs two trays as they get in line. They clang and slide against the metal railings as the two of them shuffle into queue. 

The line, as per usual, is long. They never make it there early enough. Mingyu clicks his tongue in a useless show of frustration. Honestly, it’s a myth that the line is ever short or that the cafeteria is ever void of people because every time Minghao’s there, every time he peeks in, no matter when or at what hour, it’d always be teeming with a crowd, and the line would always be present. It’s like a whole universe of its own. The entire school is a whole universe of its own, really. Other schools, too. Other buildings, other houses; trees, plants; they’re all little universes within a larger one within a larger one. A seemingly endless thing of universes. 

“How was class?” Mingyu asks. 

“Uhh.” The kid in front of them smells strongly of onions. Or it’s probably just the cafeteria. They probably _all_ smell like onions. “Made a box.” 

“Oh,” Mingyu says, disappointment flattening his voice. “That’s it?”

Minghao pauses. “No.” He chortles out laughter when he thinks about Vernon and his retainer and almost hits onion kid. “Not really.” 

The lunch lady asks him if he would like to try their new tuna rolls.

“No thanks, I don’t like tuna.”

“I’ll pass too, thanks,” Mingyu tells her as she opens her mouth to ask, then nudges Minghao when he doesn’t elaborate. “Did someone nail their finger in?” 

“What?” Minghao turns to him, disgusted. “ _No_ , why do you always think of the worst things?”

“Last year some kid smashed his finger. Remember that?”

“No. No one in my class is that stupid.” 

“Wanna know what happened to me? You know that lab I was freaking out about all day yesterday? My teacher basically forgot all about it.” 

Minghao snorts at that. “You’re unlucky.”

“She’s way too old,” Mingyu continues. “I don’t hate her, but it’s really inconvenient for everyone involved. Like, she can barely walk. I don’t know why they haven’t let her retire yet.” Mingyu bounces on his heels before hooking his chin over Minghao’s shoulder. “So you’re not gonna tell me what happened in class?”

Minghao nudges him off. “Stop tickling me.” He yells when Mingyu tries it again.

Today’s meal, when they finally get it, is roast chicken thigh and roast veggies, both on the almost-inedible side of overdone. Mingyu takes a bite of the chicken as they wind their way around the sea of seats to find a vacant spot. 

“What the hell,” he snaps. “This is so _dry_.”

A few steps ahead of him, Minghao looks over his shoulder and titters with glee. “You look so angry.”

“I am,” Mingyu says. “I’m hungry and this is what I get. Dry chicken.”

“How sad.” 

“It is. You have it too. You’re gonna suffer.”

“I won’t complain about it out loud.”

Mingyu swallows his food like it’s painful and punches him lightly in the shoulder blade. 

Minghao rubs the area, appalled. “That hurt.”

“Yeah ‘cause you’re all bones.”

“Never heard that one before.” 

“Tell me what happened in class.” 

“Why do you wanna know so bad?” Minghao asks.

“‘Cause you’re my friend and this is what friends fucking do.”

“Did you really have to add that fucking right there? At the end?”

“Yeah.”

Minghao rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He pauses, unsure of where to start. 

No, no, he knows _exactly_ where to start ( _second day of the second half of the second term_ ), he just doesn’t know how. 

He looks off into the distance. “I kind o –”

Of course, it was at that very moment that life throws him a curveball. 

“ _Oh_ –”

A soft pain. A soft grunt.

Soft, but still a curveball.

Minghao never gets to say another word. He sees a blur in the vague shape of a person, feels his tray being pushed up painfully against the bones in his chest for a second or two, then hears a horrible clanging sound. When he finally comes to, there’s warm gravy dribbling down his knit sweater. All his food, including the tray, is a heap on the grimy floor. His ears ring. He looks ahead. There’s another tray, upside down, in a pool of its own soupy-dry heap, and a pair of white sneakers, laces untied on one of them. 

He looks up.

Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, Vernon Choi stands in front of him. With gravy dribbling down _his_ sweater.

“Shiiit,” Vernon whispers.

People at nearby tables turn and look. Some stare for longer but most go back to whatever they were doing. A few keep watching. 

“Dude…” Vernon says. He’s eyeing him up and down in horror. “I am so sorry.” 

Minghao looks down at himself. “It’s cool.” 

It’s not cool. His only knit sweater is ruined and the only thing that would make him feel better is if he knew for sure that gravy isn’t tough to remove from this material.

Unable to feel much of anything else other than that and the heat from the gravy running down his front, Minghao starts looking around for the nearest napkin station. He swears they move it around every damn time.

“Good going.” At that moment, Mingyu comes up to Minghao’s side and clasps him on the shoulder. “Hurting the new kid.”

“I’m not hurt,” Vernon says.

Someone walks past them and on their tray is a few seemingly unused napkins. Mingyu snatches one up.

“Here.” He hands it to Minghao. The person shoots him a strange look. He flashes them a smile. “It’s an emergency,” he says as they walk off. 

It’s mostly clean, if a little crumpled. Minghao gets most of the gravy off, but there’s a stubborn stain left smack-dab in the front and center of his stomach. He clicks his tongue.

“Shoot. That looks kinda bad.” Vernon steps closer towards Minghao. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” Minghao nods. “I’m okay. My sweater isn't, but...” It isn’t completely Vernon’s fault, if at all, because Minghao knows _he_ wasn’t paying attention himself. It was Mingyu’s fault, really. Mingyu and his questions about people. “Are you?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I’m _really_ sorry, man, I wasn’t looking.”

“Neither was I,” Minghao admits. He surveys the floor, the scattered pieces of vegetables and chicken on it. “At least your food’s on the ground, too.”

Vernon grimaces. “I feel bad for the person that has to clean this all up,” he says. “Oh, hey…” He snaps his fingers, and a flash of realisation hits him. Minghao blinks. It’s almost comical the way it changes his face. His brows are higher up now, eyes rounder, kind of like he’s in a gasp, but he didn’t gasp. Well, he could have, but Minghao wouldn’t know. The noise in the cafeteria would’ve drowned out a sound as soft as that. 

“I have a hoodie you could wear,” Vernon says.

Now, the cafeteria can’t drown _that_ out.

Minghao blinks. “Okay.” 

“It’s in my locker,” Vernon says. “You can borrow it.” 

“That’s perfect,” Mingyu pipes up in his meddling but well-meaning fashion. He nudges Minghao forward. “Go get changed, you kinda smell.”

“Wait, wh –” Minghao is thoroughly taken aback. He nearly steps into dry chicken, barely missing it, and shoots Mingyu a glare. “Shut up.”

“You do!”

“You have a hoodie in your locker?” Minghao turns to Vernon. “Right now?” 

“Yeah,” Vernon replies. It’s so easy to believe him, his plain, matter-of-fact voice. Minghao’s convinced. Vernon really _does_ have a spare hoodie in his locker that he doesn’t wear. Hell, if he said he knew how to unlock a portal to another dimension Minghao would buy it.

“Okay then,” he says. 

And, well, it’s either that or a stained sweater for the rest of the day. 

“It’s on the second floor,” Vernon says. “Did you wanna come with, or –”

“I’ll come.” 

“I’ll be here,” Mingyu says. “Around. Somewhere.” 

"I'll be back." Minghao pats him on the arm, then walks off with Vernon. 

Vernon seems harmless. Vernon _is_ harmless. There isn’t much Minghao can get out of this guy apart from that and “handsome”. He doesn’t even know if he has friends yet. Probably not. He’s new and all. He and Seungkwan seem to get along really well in class (half of their conversations are always Seungkwan poking fun at him), but Minghao rarely ever sees them hang out anywhere else. As a matter of fact, he rarely ever sees Vernon anywhere else, alone or otherwise. 

For their first time talking outside of class, the situation they’ve landed in doesn’t seem to be very ideal. 

“Sorry again,” Vernon says, as they go through the double doors.

“It’s fine,” Minghao says. The quietness outside is almost jarring to the buzz back there; Minghao can pick up on the barely-there way Vernon lisps around his s’s. Definitely the alignment braces. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Even Steven.” Vernon doesn’t walk very fast, even though his strides aren’t by any means short. “Neither was I.”

There’s another bout of wordlessness until they get to the lockers. Clearly, neither of them are big talkers. 

“Here,” Vernon says. The metal of the locker door scrapes the air for a split second as it closes. “It should fit.” 

Vernon’s locker is conveniently placed right across from the boys’ bathroom. Minghao takes the hoodie from him. It’s faded, warm yellow. And soft. Not as thick as his sweater, but if he wears it under his coat he should be fine. 

“Thanks,” Minghao says.

Vernon’s around the same height as him, only less twiggy, so the hoodie ends up a little looser in the shoulder and chest area. Yellow wouldn’t be Minghao’s first choice of colour, but it’s comfortable and – most importantly – gravy-free. He’ll make do. He walks out of the bathroom with his dirty t-shirt bunched in one fist. 

“So, I’ll return this to you when we –” He cuts himself off when he sees Vernon’s mouth falling open a little at the sight of him. “What?” His hand drifts up to his ear. “Do I have something –” 

“Dude,” Vernon says. “It suits you so much better than it did me.”

Minghao rakes his eyes over his own front. He doesn’t get what Vernon’s so impressed about. “I don’t usually wear yellow,” he says, flushing out of surprise more than anything. He meant to say thank you. Looking back up he offers Vernon a paper towel. “You should clean yourself up too.”

“Ah, thanks, man.” Vernon takes it. “And I think yellow’s totally your colour.” 

“It makes look seven years younger,” Minghao says. “I’m sixteen.”

Vernon spits out laughter.

“What?” Suddenly it’s very hard to contain his smile, but he tries his best because he’s supposed to be slightly more upset after accidentally admitting his biggest complex to a guy he barely knows. “It’s true.” 

Vernon shakes his head, wiping most of the stain off. “Nah, it looks fine.” 

“Don’t lie to my face.”

“I’m not.” 

“Whatever,” Minghao says. “I’ll return the hoodie to you next class.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry. Keep it.”

Minghao raises both brows. “Keep it?” 

“If you want.” Vernon balls the paper towel up and aims it at the trash can diagonal to Minghao. He throws it. It goes in. "Yesss." 

Despite himself, Minghao is kind of impressed. He shakes his head as he turns back to face Vernon. "Are you sure I can keep this?" 

“Yeah, go ahead. I have way too many hoodies, is all.”

Minghao looks down and tugs the hem. 

Second thing he learned: Vernon does _not_ care about anything. In a good way. 

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll keep it.”

“Cool,” Vernon says. “That one’s kinda old. I’ve had it for like four years. It’s kinda tight on me now.” 

Minghao glances behind Vernon’s head at his locker. “Do you just, like, keep a million hoodies in your locker for emergencies like this?” 

A tinge of playfulness lights up Vernon’s eyes, quiet in the way it brightens his face. “Sure.”

“Were you just waiting for someone to _finally_ spill their entire lunch on their shirt so you can give it to them?” 

“Sure did.”

“Ah. That worked out.”

Vernon nods, face straight. “Sure did.” It makes Minghao giggle.

Silence falls then, wrapping itself around the two of them. Vernon sniffs and runs a hand through his hair as Minghao’s gaze drifts along the fluorescent lights overhead. He can hear them buzzing. They’re in the empty hallways universe while everyone else is in the cafeteria universe eating subpar food and trying not to bump into each other. 

“It’s super quiet,” Vernon says, quietly. “Feels like – you know when a character on, like, a TV show goes through a portal or magic door, and they land in space, and it’s silent when they show you the character there because there’s no noise in space.” 

Minghao blinks patiently.

“And that’s, like, the only part of the montage that’s quiet. You get me?” Vernon looks up at the lights as well. “It feels like that.”

“Like a whole new universe?”

Vernon points a finger at him. “Like that.” 

Minghao tamps down a smile. "I was thinking the exact same thing." He had other questions, but he doesn’t think he’d get his answers – at least, not in this lifetime. He doesn’t even know what his questions would be, really, just that they exist and they’re for Vernon. He’ll have to think about them. 

“Come eat lunch with me and Mingyu,” he says.

He could have made that one of the questions, but – anyway. 

“Mingyu?” Vernon asks, scratching the side of his head. “Your friend?”

“Yeah.” Minghao clasps his hands behind his back. “We’ll steal his food.”

Vernon stares, bewildered. “What?”

“He does it to me all the time. Consider it karma.”

“Karma,” Vernon says, slowly. “Okay. I’ll come.” 

Minghao laughs. “It's fine. Treat it like a buffet.” 

Vernon's nodding, one eyebrow cocked in wonder, eyes slightly narrowed. “Got it. I’ll help you steal his food.”

“ _There_ we go.”

When they rejoin Mingyu sitting near one of the big windows, all he says is, “I thought you guys ran away together or some shit. I was gonna call the authorities.”

“Why would I run away with him?” Minghao blurts out.

“Hey, why wouldn’t you?” Vernon glances up at him from his seat, lower lashes fanned out.

“Because.” Minghao pulls out his chair and realises he’s flushing again – “You’re probably bad at running.”

Vernon snorts. Thankfully, he misses the eyebrow wiggle Mingyu gives Minghao. 

 

 

 

 

 

For most of Minghao’s life, he has never had one friend he could truly call his. In kindergarten and primary school, it was okay, because everyone shared everything, including friendships. They giggled, played, and pulled each other’s hairs. It was okay. 

But then he got older, and so did other people, and then it got less okay, for some unwritten, unspoken reason. Minghao thought nothing of it and of himself and went about his business. 

He got by. He’d cruise the hallways by himself and sat in classes alone. He wasn’t _lonely_ , because he had people. He had project partners. He had teachers he liked. People in dance class and the occasional lunchtime crew that don’t stick around after lunch – they all helped him get by. 

But getting by became a painful punch to the gut – a reminder that being lonely _sucks ass_ no matter how much you try to console yourself – when Mingyu came into the picture. When Mingyu came into the picture, Minghao found himself the loneliest he’d ever been.

He can recall how it happened. He _can’t_ recall when he was able to call Mingyu his, or when Mingyu started to call _him_ his; the guy showed up in Environmental Science with his too-long hair and too-long legs and that, apparently, was that. Things and people happen for a reason, though, so Minghao likes to think Mingyu happened for a very good one.

Minghao was curious, at first, and a little intimidated, if he was being honest. Mingyu was… everywhere. He wasn’t smooth, but he easily slipped into other people’s conversations, eyes glimmering, voice getting louder, like it was nothing. People warmed up to him. Minghao found himself hating him a little – but only for a fleeting moment. 

The second semester of tenth grade crept in, and Minghao and the others walked into class to a brand new seating chart. 

_This will be us for the whole year,_ the teacher had said _. Familiarise yourselves._

With that, the only two kids whose names started with the letter M in Mrs. Roswell’s one-forty-five-p.m. Enviro class were put side by side, by the window nearest to the emergency exit.

And the first thing Mingyu had said, because Minghao will never forget it: 

“Hey, nice pencil case.”

Up close, Minghao saw that he had uneven teeth. “Thanks.” 

“I was gonna get that exact same one, but I ended up getting the blue one instead.” Mingyu rubbed his nose. “I hope we don’t end up hating each other.”

In that instant, Minghao knew he could never.

“Same here.”

It was mostly nerve-wracking before it came full circle. Day after day Minghao would scare himself to death thinking of Mingyu leaving him, because Mingyu slipped into his life like he did into everyone else’s and reminded him of the loneliness he had felt. What difference does _he_ make to the rest of these people, in Mingyu’s eyes? 

But Mingyu had slipped into his life like he did into everyone else’s, and stayed. 

“It’s done!” Minghao exclaims at the end of class on a Wednesday.

His small box rests proud on the table. To his side, Vernon puts the hammer down and lets out a whoop. He had just finished nailing the last panel in for Minghao because he had nothing to do after finishing his apartment. Apparently, as he told Minghao, he brought his apartment home and worked on it there.

“Looks cute,” Vernon says. 

Seungkwan looks up momentarily. “Oh, that _is_ cute,” he says. “What are you gonna use it for? It’s so small.”

Minghao crosses his arms over his chest. “Maybe a decorative piece. It’d be pretty, right? I could polish it and give it a coat of veneer.” He turns to Vernon. “Can I sign it with my and your initials on it?”

Vernon’s eyes widen. “My initials?”

“Yeah. You helped me.” Minghao levels him with a look. 

Vernon rubs his own chin, pondering. “I don’t think I helped _that_ much.”

“Well I think you did.”

A shy, confused smile makes its way onto Vernon’s face, and he levels Minghao with a look of his own.

Right now, Minghao thinks the way Vernon bumped into his life, and his into Vernon’s, is the same kind of easy as it was for him and Mingyu. And for that reason, Minghao wants to stay. 

“Fine,” Vernon says. “Go ahead.”

“I was gonna do it whether you like it or not,” Minghao says. 

“Yeah, yeah.”

Minghao thinks that Vernon would like to stick around as well. 

 

 

 

 

 

Vernon takes the exact same route home as Minghao does. Somehow, they had never crossed paths before until earlier today, a few weeks later.

Term break starts in a few days. All the while snow keeps falling.

Minghao waved and smiled when they saw each other. Vernon’s ears stuck out from underneath his beanie, the tips of them red from the cold. There's pinkish-red across his cheeks and nose, splotchy in places. His lips looked paler than usual. 

“Where do you live?” Vernon asked, at one point. They were waiting to cross the road. Minghao watched the green man blink in time with a car’s windshield wiper. 

“Chester Street,” he said.

“Chester, cool. I live in Balsam Street.”

Minghao looked at him. “That’s right around the corner. Just straight ahead from mine.”

“Oh, is it?”

“Yeah.” Minghao looked away. The light turned green, and they set off. “Liking the neighbourhood so far?” he asked, after a pause.

Vernon gave a moment or two. “It’s quiet. I used to live in a city, so this is a nice change.”

“Ah.”

They were silent the rest of the walk until they reached Minghao's corner.

Minghao grips his backpack strap. They're standing where the corner curves gently into Chester Street.

“This is me,” Minghao says. There are no cars driving around yet, just the ones parked out collecting snow. Overtime, it has fallen just a little bit harder. “You have snow all over your bangs.” 

Vernon shakes his hair. “So do you.”

“I know.”

Vernon squints as he looks to the sky, scrunching his nose. “It’s snowing a lot.”

“It’s been like that for a while.” Minghao watches Vernon swipe away the white flakes that cling onto his eyelashes. He has never drawn a thing more advanced than a godawful tracing of Scooby Doo he did back in the sixth grade, but suddenly he feels an itch in his hand to pick up a pencil and start sketching Vernon's eyes. “Okay,” he says. “See you.”

Vernon waves, wiggling his fingers and showing his teeth in a not-grin. 

With only five days remaining to the end of their second term of junior year, Minghao learned the third thing about Vernon – the shape of his eyes, and the way his lashes make them.

 

 

 

 

 

_**spring** _

_there is a small plant_  
_unfurling at your feet_  


 

 

“Why are you so worried about meeting my mom?”

“I’m not worried,” Minghao insists. “I’m intimidated.” 

Laughter rings in Minghao’s ears, familiar by now. Minghao switches to speaker mode and rolls over on his bed. “Shut up.” 

It’s Saturday. Minghao’s sister is out grocery shopping and Vernon’s asking him to come over. Again. He’s been there five times and it’s only been three weeks into spring. 

“Mom likes you,” Vernon insists. 

Minghao snorts. “Really.”

“Yeah. She buys cookies just in case you come around.”

“Wow. Why would she do that?” 

He’d like to hang out with Vernon, but he isn’t in the mood to make nice with grown-ups right now. He’s only ever met Mingyu’s parents thrice in the two years they’ve been friends, so this regular meet-up with Vernon’s parents is pretty much an extreme sport. Minghao clicks his tongue upon the secondary realisation that he has homework to do, and flops an arm over his eyes. 

“Even if I wanted to go, I can’t. I have a History essay to do.”

“Oh yeah, I haven’t even started mine. When’s yours due?”

“Two days,” Minghao says. “When’s yours?”

“Some time this week. I’m sure it’s not tomorrow, though. Pretty sure. Wait, lemme…” 

Minghao gives him a while. He hears a thunk, some rustling in the background, some page-flipping, and a little bit of muttering. Then, a distant, “Oh, nice!” and another thunk when Vernon picks his phone up again. “It’s due tomorrow at midnight,” he says. “I’m safe.”

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Ouch...?”

“Stop inviting me over to use as procrastination.”

“I’m not.”

Minghao gets up to close the window in his bedroom, leaving his phone on the bed. The leaves on the trees shiver and shake with the wind. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?” 

“Alright,” Vernon’s voice crackles through. “Love you, _brrro_.” He rolls the r’s when he says bro.

“I know,” Minghao replies. He can never roll them properly.

He also can never get used to how Vernon says that. If he’s honest, he finds it a little weird. Mingyu doesn’t say it. But Mingyu isn’t Vernon, and Vernon isn’t Mingyu, and the difference of the matter becomes so transparently clear when he’s with Vernon, because there’s this fluttering in his chest that happens out of the blue when Vernon says those words, like looking at a grand view of the mountainside, or reading the final few words of a good book. 

Moving to his desk, Minghao takes his laptop out, and it thuds on the surface like a heavy thing.

 

 

 

 

 

Two hours later, Minghao is free. He’s feeling good and productive. The door clicks open just as he walks out of the bedroom to go downstairs and get a drink of water, and his sister comes in, heaving a sigh.

“It’s so _windy_ ,” she complains shrilly. Immediately, Minghao is at her side, taking some of the grocery bags in her hands. “Thanks. Where’s the little one?” 

“In her room. Still napping.” Minghao follows her into the kitchen. He sets the plastic bags down onto the counter and begins taking out cans of tomato soup from one of them. 

Minghui opens the fridge to put in milk cartons. Her cheeks are splotched red like they always are, bun coming loose and near-undone. She looks tired, the lines of her back and shoulders as she turns around to grab more groceries to stow away etched with it.

“How was your day?” she asks.

“It was okay,” Minghao says. “Spring break is next week.”

“Oh, exciting.”

“I guess.” It’s nothing much to him, but he’s been thinking about it, a growing thing in the back of his mind, like some circus that constantly comes back. 

“Are you doing anything?” Minghui asks.

“No. I don’t know.”

“If whatever you’re planning involves alcohol I’ll gut you.” 

“I’m not planning anything.”

“Don’t lie to me, youth.” 

“I’m not lying.” 

Minghui jokingly stares him down, then stores some apples in the fridge, red and shiny. 

Minghao bristles. “What?” 

Is that sad? That Minghao doesn’t have anything planned for spring break? Most of the kids in his grade are going off to mini vacations and road trips with their families. The uber wealthy ones go to family-owned villas in sunny places. Mingyu and his family are visiting Japan for a week. 

Maybe it _is_ sad. 

“Nothing,” Minghui says.

Minghao closes the cabinet door. He wonders what Vernon’s doing. “How was your day?”

“Got barked at by some dog and dropped the bag with the eggs in it.”

“Holy shit.”

Minghui pulls out a carton of eggs and grins. “They’re fine, though!”

After all the groceries are put away and Minghui starts busying herself making dinner (she’s trying out a new pork recipe and won’t let Minghao help her), Minghao treats himself to a warm bath. In there, with his mouth and chin underwater, he thinks about how much he’s missing out on. How many cities and people and food to get lost in. How much it would change if his parents were still around. 

He’s probably always thinking about his parents, even if he doesn’t realise. It doesn’t hurt, because he didn’t know them. He and Mingxiu were too young. What hurts is that it hurt Minghui. She was about to turn nine when they died. She knew them the longest, remembered them the clearest. Minghao can never put himself in her shoes; the loss they feel are too different. 

If he were to describe his loss in words, it would be something empty but small, like a dusty, unused, single cubicle. Minghui’s would be much, much larger. More chaotic, maybe. Something like falling eternally – first fast, hurtling through the sky, then slowing down, but never quite stopping.

Later that night, after dinner, Minghao takes his diary out from the bottom-most drawer on the bookshelf. His last entry was over three months ago. He starts a new entry on a completely separate page, jotting the day and date down.

_I thought about my parents. It was a little surprising. I was in the bath and all of a sudden it just happened. I miss them, but not in the same way Minghui misses them. I also thought about spring break. I regret not having plans, like always, but Mingyu’s stories from his trips always cheer me up. Once he said he wants to go to skiing with me. I said I prefer warmer places. I don’t know if I still think the same way. I wonder what Vernon prefers, but I bet he likes skiing more than going to beaches. He just seems like that kind of guy._

He ends the entry there when he realises something. He puts the pen down, tucks the book neatly back into the drawer, and calls Vernon. 

“Hey?” Vernon answers.

“Hey.” Minghao leans on his desk. “Are you busy?”

“Not really.”

“Neither am I. I have a question for you.” Minghao picks lint off his sweatpants. 

"Okay."

“How was your day?”

“Um, it was alright. I went to the cinema with my dad.”

Minghao hums. “What’d you watch?”

“Nothing. There wasn’t anything interesting so we got out of there and hung out at the arcade.”

Minghao plops down into his chair. “So you went to the arcade. Not the cinema.”

“Well... yeah. Was that your question?”

“No. But tell me about the arcade first. I've never been.”

“What? _Never_?” Vernon asks, incredulous. “Really?” 

“Never had a reason to." 

“Wow. Well, Dad and I go there sometimes, for fun. We try to find a different one each time. You know what, you should come with me next week.”

Minghao starts laughing. “That was gonna be my question," he says. "I was wondering if you were doing anything next week.”

“Oh. Well... there you go. Also, you don't need a reason to go to the arcade.” 

“Do you not?" Minghao says. "Don’t you need a reason for everything? Even if it’s just ‘Oh, because I want to?’”

Vernon is silent for a few seconds. “I guess so.” 

“You're going again next week?” _With me?_

“Yeah. Uh. I wanna see if I can beat dad’s high score in basketball. You’re free, right?” 

Minghao slouches further in his seat. “Yeah. I don’t have any plans for spring break.”

“Hey, same.”

Minghao was kind of expecting Vernon to be surprised about that, but – there doesn’t seem to be anything that Minghao can say that can make this guy budge. 

It’s comforting. Not in the same way Mingyu’s comforting; but Minghao still doesn’t know how exactly. 

Minghao frowns. "What kind of music do you listen to?"

They spend another half hour talking. Minghao finds out that he’s more of a hip-hop and R&B kind of guy, but “I listen to a little bit of indie rock, too. Gets me in a nice mood, y’know?” Minghao does not, so Vernon recommends him a song. They go on a tangent about rocketeering, and another one about zoos, and then Vernon has to leave to do the dishes.

“Wait, so, next week?” Minghao says.

“Yeah.”

“When? And what time?”

“Not sure. Some time after lunch, probably.” 

“Dude.”

“I’ll call you,” Vernon says. “Just come over to mine. Mom’s driving.”

“Hopeless.” Minghao rolls his eyes. There’s butterflies where his heart is supposed to be. “See you soon.” 

“See ya, _bro_.”

“Don’t do that.”

Vernon laughs. “Sorry.” 

 

 

 

 

 

A week later, after dinner when the day's events have settled into his mind, Minghao takes his diary out and writes three sentences underneath the previous entry. 

_What if Vernon hadn’t transferred here? We wouldn’t have been friends and I wouldn’t have known how to play skeeball._


	2. Chapter 2

  


  


_**summer** _

_your face and hands covered in sun_  
_(i think i understand)_  


  


  


The doorbell buzzes under Minghao’s finger, and he stands in the heat waiting for the door to be answered. There’s a really good gelato parlour near the pier that he’s been to a couple times with Mingyu and he thinks Vernon would like it. He breathes out, running his hand through his hair for the fourth time in two minutes. 

It feels nice to come back to _someone_ after spending time at his grandparents’ house. 

Minghao and his sisters visit them every summer for two weeks. Mingyu wouldn’t be around by the time Minghao gets back, because he’d be gone by then, off to Phuket or Cologne or wherever his family decides they want to be. Texts and video calls can only do so much, and Minghao would miss him a lot.

This year is different.

This year, Minghao gets to stop feeling like his insides are rotting and _do_ something. It feels right. It feels – nerve-wracking. What if Vernon finds it boring? What if he doesn’t even like ice cream? He said yes when Minghao asked a couple days ago, but – 

The door opens, and Minghao doesn’t think anymore. 

He never has to, around Vernon.

“Ooh.” Vernon blinks rapidly, one hand braced on the door handle as the other drifts up to shield his eyes from the sunlight. It catches on the lighter shades in his eyes. “It’s so bright.” 

“You look awake,” Minghao says.

“Thanks. I’ve been getting actual sleep.” Vernon sighs. 

“Good,” Minghao says. “And listen, I know I said it’s an ice cream parlour, but it’s gelato.”

Vernon tilts his head. “They’re not the same?”

“No. Gelato’s softer and creamier.” 

Vernon gazes at Minghao’s face for a few seconds, lost in thought. “Well that’s cool,” he muses. “Lemme get my wallet.” 

“No, no.” Minghao reaches out and places a hand on his. “It’s on me.”

Vernon gasps. “You’re the best.” 

Minghao shrugs. “I know.”

They set off. Up until about an hour ago, Minghao had thought the heat was almost unbearable, but now, walking side by side with Vernon, he doesn’t mind it at all. Their voices mingle with the excited yells of neighbourhood kids biking up and down the streets. 

“So… this girl I work with,” Vernon is saying, kicking away a stray pebble, “she has –”

“Wait, wait, where do you work?”

“At the bread place in the shopping center.” 

That’s the one Minghui goes to. Minghao wonders if she’s seen Vernon there. “My sister goes there a lot.”

“Well, I don’t think I’d recognise her.”

“Obviously. You’ve never seen her.”

“What does she look like?” Vernon turns to look at Minghao. “You?”

“People say we have similar noses. What are you doing?” Minghao holds his breath as Vernon stares at him again. He’s concentrating really hard. 

“Your nose is kinda big,” Vernon says.

“Shut –”

“I don’t mean that in a mean way.” Vernon backs away. 

Minghao huffs out a breath. Vernon and his way of doing things so casually – it isn’t fair how un-casually Minghao reacts to them. 

“I think I can kind of imagine what your sister would look like,” Vernon says after a small pause.

“ _You_ don’t really look like your sister,” Minghao says, recalling her face.

“Nope.” 

“Oh, look –” Minghao stops when he spots a dandelion sprouting from a crack in the pavement. He bends over to pick it. “My grandma makes dandelion tea sometimes.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah. Amazing how these things can grow practically anywhere.”

Vernon hums. Unassumingly, he leans in, then blows the seed head clean off. 

“What the…” Minghao watches the fluffy things float off. He shoots Vernon a glare. “Did you even make a wish?”

“No,” Vernon says. “I used to do that when I was younger.”

Minghao smacks him lightly. “You _are_ young.” 

They continue their stroll, Minghao pointing out parks and houses and roads and shops, and Vernon asking questions about some but mostly listening quietly. He promises Vernon he’ll take him everywhere. Vernon tells him they’d probably need more time to do that. 

  


  


  


  


  


It’s empty and quiet in the parlour. The seashell string lights by the unused jukebox are off as they always are during the day, but they still manage to gleam somehow. There’s music playing in the air through speakers, just enough to be heard over the constant hissing of the waves. 

Vernon’s looking around, three drifts of dandelions in one hand and one behind his ear. Minghao doesn’t know how it got there. The wooden floor creaks a little as they walk further inside.

“How cute,” Vernon says. Minghao throws him a glance.

“Talking about me?” 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” Minghao runs a hand through his hair, embarrassed. “What are you gonna get?” 

Vernon gives Minghao a lasting look, but doesn’t pursue it. He squints to read the menu instead. “What do you usually get?” 

“Pistachio. Sometimes rocky road.” 

The sleepy curves of Vernon’s eyes wander the chalk letters, contemplative. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

They don’t eat at the parlour. Minghao takes them outside to sit on the pier, legs hanging off the edge, and they talk, teeth and gums freezing while everything else melts. They ask each other how they’re doing, feet inches close yet miles away from the blue-green below them. They talk about holiday homework. They talk about Vernon’s mom’s sudden, random interest in gardening. Minghao tells him how his grandmother used to love to garden, and Vernon says they should be friends. Stray seagulls glide lazily overhead, too hot from the summer sun to try anything. Minghao focuses on the sand and sees small crabs messing up the grains, skittering around and into holes, flickers of movement so quick he’s not sure they’re real. 

Vernon’s telling Minghao about his new car, when Minghao tunes back in to the low buzz of his voice.

“…like red, or something, but Dad said he got me an orange one instead? I don’t mind, though. I think I'll like it. But I thought… I dunno. I’ve always – is this weird? I’ve always had this, like, dream, or whatever, that I’d be driving around a red car when I get my license.” 

Minghao imagines him, music up and windows down, in a red car. “It’s not weird,” he says. “It’d suit you.” It’d be the colour of cherries and have white wheels. 

Vernon giggles appreciatively – _he-heh_ – and it lodges itself somewhere in Minghao’s chest. 

“You could drive us places,” Minghao goes on. Drops of pistachio ice cream snake down his wrist and he catches them with his tongue before they can go anywhere else. “We wouldn’t have to walk everywhere.” 

“I like that idea,” Vernon says.

“I’m always full of good ideas.”

Vernon snorts. “Totally.”

Swish, swish, goes the water against the pier. Vernon’s knee falls on top of his when he shifts positions. Wind blows sporadically, making their t-shirts cling to their chests. 

“I could spend my entire life out here,” Minghao says. “It’s beautiful.”

Vernon gives Minghao a look. “Just sitting here?”

“Yeah.” Minghao returns it. “Wouldn’t you?” 

Vernon trails his gaze away, out towards the sea and everything beyond it. “Maybe,” he says. “Seems kinda lonely, though.”

Minghao bites into his cone. “But I’ll be here too.”

“True.” Vernon leans back on his wrists and takes a deep breath of sea air. “I’m glad you’re back, man. I missed you.”

Minghao scrunches up his nose. “Ew.” 

Vernon shoves him lightly. “What?” 

“I missed you too.” Minghao laughs and swats his hand away when he shoves again. 

“How was your grandparents’ house?” Vernon asks.

“It was nice. Sorry I didn’t text or call much. Reception was shit.” Minghao breathes out. “They looked healthy as always.” 

“Are you close with them?” Vernon asks.

Minghao nods, leaning back on his hands to line himself up with him. 

“Was your whole family there too?”

“Yeah, me and my sisters.”

“Your parents didn’t come?”

“No.” Minghao pauses. “They can’t crawl out of their graves.”

Vernon’s eyes widen. “They… what?” 

Minghao flushes with embarrassment. He could’ve just said they died. “They died when I was four.” 

Vernon blanches. “Oh. I see. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Minghao says. “Don’t be.” Car accidents are stupid and unpredictable. 

Vernon’s mouth has fallen ajar and his eyes are downturned, sadness evident as he looks at his own feet and not at Minghao’s face. Minghao can’t help but laugh, softly.

“Don’t be upset,” he says.

“Yeah. Sorry. I’ll try. I know people don’t like to be pitied.”

“Yeah.” Minghao wants to hold him. “You’ve still got your parents, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then don’t be upset.” He nods at his ice cream. “Careful, it’s melting.”

Vernon smiles, a bit watery, ducking away. 

“The wrappers are kind of useless,” Minghao remarks.

“Yeah.”

Minghao looks away, towards the waters, and breathes out. After a few beats of silence, he asks, “All good?”

Vernon stops chewing the inside of his mouth, and nods. “All good.” He gives him a glance. Minghao returns it with a smile. _All good_. They look away once more, the water and sky inviting them to stare. 

It was accidental with Mingyu, too; slipped out just like that. Minghao thinks it’s probably harder on the other person than it is on him. He doesn’t think of it as a confession, but telling someone else for the second time makes him think that maybe it _is_ a confession. Maybe he _should_ feel something. But he doesn’t, not really. He would have loved to have known his parents better, but he doesn’t like to spend time thinking about that.

Sitting under the sun just a jump away from cold water, Minghao feels closer to Vernon than he ever had before.

“Isn’t it weird?” Vernon’s voice comes, moments later. Minghao licks the top of his gelato.

“Nothing is weirder than you.”

Vernon breathes out laughter, sucking cream off the divot between his thumb and index finger as he rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he says, gently. “Time. That’s even weirder.” 

Minghao swings his legs. “Time does its own thing.”

“Exactly. I feel like I've been in high school forever, but I also feel like everything’s happening way too quickly. We’re starting senior year in a few months,” he says. “And then we’re graduating after that. And then we’ll move away, to, like, who knows where, to do completely new things. Some people might stay, but it’s… you know. Scary.”

Vernon’s voice, a slight drone, sounds as amber as the sun spilling across the water.

“Will you stay?” Minghao asks, and it comes out quieter than he intended. It’s orange everywhere he looks.

Vernon breathes out and makes a face. “Probably not.” He straightens his legs out in front of him, wiggling his toes. “Will you?”

“Probably not. I’m going abroad for uni. Don’t know where exactly.” Minghao would feel better if he did that, he knows for sure, but there’s a tugging in his mind that tells him otherwise. He stares up at the white clouds untouched by all of this and feels a lump in his throat. “What are you scared of?”

Vernon hums. “The future. Like, jobs and stuff. Who I’ll become.” He nods softly to himself, as if in confirmation. “You?” 

Minghao’s own answer rings bells in his head, loud and insistent, and he decides to hit it out of the park. _Losing Mingyu. Losing you._

“Losing the people you know and have.” 

Into the ether it goes. There is a stirring in his heart when he throws Vernon a glance and sees that he’s already looking at him. All Minghao can think about is if Vernon knows what he means. 

“But that’s just the way it is, y’know?” Minghao says, finally, when he finds his voice. “What will worrying about it do? Slow it down? Stop it from happening?” 

Vernon crosses his legs and shakes his head. “How are you not worried?”

“I am,” Minghao says. “But there’s no use worrying about something you don’t know.”

“You’re right,” Vernon says. His eyes light up just then, just slightly, but it’s so brilliant, and Minghao can’t look away. “I’m not scared of you and me.”

“What does that mean?” Minghao asks.

“I’m not scared of, like, us not being friends anymore. Even after we graduate and all that.” 

“You aren’t?” 

Vernon’s voice takes over the ringing bells. “Are you?”

_I think we’re great. I think we’re more than great. I think I…_

“I think,” Minghao says, heart in his mouth threatening to ooze out, “you’re right.”

The corners of Vernon’s mouth lift, ever so slightly. “I think so too.” 

Hope blooms. It’s a bright, fizzy, pricking thing.

  


  


  


  


  


It was Thursday or Saturday when Minghao visits the pool for the first time ever since he moved into this part of town. He’s in a tank top and the only pair of boardshorts he has and some old sunglasses he found in the bathroom drawer that his sister said apparently belonged to his dad. He wonders how he never found it before. It feels slightly wrong, considering he’s dead. But then Minghao wonders why it’s wrong. It shouldn’t be, considering he’s dead.

“You don’t mind, right Dad?” he mumbles, stood by the entrance, scoping the place out. 

There’s a lot of people and none of them look like Vernon. He purses his lips, re-reading the text Vernon sent him a mere hour ago: _come swim wiht me_. 

Minghao calls him and starts walking, slowly. A kid runs past him shouting as another kid who is also shouting chases her. The tone keeps ringing. Minghao’s backpack straps are digging into his shoulders. Why didn’t Vernon tell him where he’d be? This place is crowded and big. He’d never find him in –

“Oh!”

Minghao looks to his left. Vernon, with his phone pressed against his ear, points at him. He’s also wearing board shorts, low on his hips. His hair is plastered around his head, wet.

Minghao ends the call, scowling. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Vernon says, then starts breaking into giggles. “Sorry, it’s just – I’ve never seen you in a tank top.” 

Minghao blushes. “You could’ve told me where you were.”

“Yeah, I know." Vernon takes him by the hand, smiling sheepish. "Sorry.”

Vernon leads them further back, near one of the lifeguard posts. Minghao glances at the line of his back, the droplets of water drying on it. He's saying something, head turned to the side, but Minghao can’t hear anything but the blood rushing in his head, the softness of Vernon’s hand on his knuckles –

  


– the feeling of being out of breath, bright chlorine blue, Vernon’s face underwater. Their skin going reddish from the sun. Sunscreen wearing off. Vernon’s bare shoulder against Minghao’s as they sit by the pool’s edge crunching on nachos.

All the while, Minghao’s want, growing bigger and bigger.

All the while, the gentle summer breeze. 

  


  


  


  


  


“Ow, stop – _ow_.”

“Sorry,” Vernon wheezes. His eyes are wet from laughing too hard. “Sorry.”

Minghao inches away from Vernon, scooting sideways on the bed. “I don’t wanna watch this with you anymore.”

“You have to.” Vernon reaches out to gently yank Minghao back. “There’s three episodes left.”

Minghao makes sure his groan is as long-suffering as possible.

Vernon came over to Minghao’s for the first time today. They’re watching episodes of The Simpsons on Minghao’s shitty laptop, snacking on microwave popcorn. Vernon had to take his retainers off for it.

They’re sat against the headboard of Minghao’s bed with their legs stretched out in front of them and every time Vernon cracks up, he would grab Minghao’s wrist, or his entire body, and rock him. Minghao would be more annoyed if Vernon wasn’t so warm and soft. 

Minghao looks at him sidelong. “I’m gonna kick you out of my house,” he mutters. 

Which is to say, he will build a house with him. 

Which is to say, he will live in that house with him.

At some point, Minghao ended up with his head on Vernon’s shoulder, out of breath and in tears from laughing too hard. And by the end of the day, Minghao’s sheets and clothes smell different, like a mix of his own detergent and Vernon’s. 

That night, he writes:

_There’s a lot of different ways you can be close with people._

  


  


  


  


  


“I like someone,” Minghao announces. It’s six p.m the next evening, and Minghao’s at the park alone sitting on one of the benches.

Mingyu’s voice crackles through the speaker, disdainful. “You called me just for this?”

“Yes.”

“And here I thought you actually cared about me.”

Minghao snorts softly. “Never did.”

“Who is it?” Mingyu asks.

Minghao swats a bug away, huffing out irritation. “I sound like a teenage rom-com protagonist.”

“Hey, turn your video on.” Mingyu’s face flashes on Minghao’s phone’s screen in all its pixelated glory as he says that. He’s on his stomach on his bed, in some hotel in Rome. 

Minghao turns his video on. 

“Wow, buddy.” Mingyu bursts out laughing. “You look _depressed_. Are you at the park?”

“Yeah. And I’m not depressed.”

“Yeah, just in love. Same thing.”

“I’m not in _love_ , either,” Minghao snaps. Mingyu is unfazed, tucking his chin in his palm.

“Who is it?” he asks again.

Minghao looks down, picking lint off his t-shirt. “Vernon.” The name hangs in the air for a couple seconds. “Remember him? We had lunch with him one time.”

Mingyu’s jaw drops open, and his eyes go very wide.

“What?” Minghao asks.

“He’s _weird_ ,” Mingyu says, and then rushes in with, “I mean like, _good_ weird _._ Him and you? I can see it.”

Minghao blushes, dragging a hand over his face. “Stop it.”

“You never asked him to eat lunch with us anymore.”

Minghao shrugs. He thinks about that too, sometimes. He looks out towards the distance, at a jogger in a full tracksuit. Her ponytail bounces up and down as she jogs. “We weren’t friends then. And he usually eats with Seungkwan.” 

“Wow.” Mingyu shakes his head, a grin on his face like he knew it all along. “You like him?” 

Minghao shifts in his seat. “Yes.”

Mingyu lets out a high-pitched sound. 

“Shut up,” Minghao says. “Aren’t your parents with you?”

“They have their own room. Oh, we got scammed today! Did I tell you about that?”

Minghao’s eyes widen as he listens to Mingyu’s tale of how they “lost sixty euros to some fuckin’ dickhead”. 

“Other than that, it’s really pretty here,” Mingyu goes on. “Food’s great, weather’s nice, people are nice… I love it. There’s _so_ many tourists. I’m taking way too many pictures.”

Minghao sighs. “I wish I was there with you.”

“You’d like it here. The sky is always blue. Everything’s ancient and pretty.”

“Just like you.”

Mingyu makes a face. “What?”

Minghao thinks it over. “No, you’re just ancient.” 

Mingyu shrugs. “I’ll take it.”

Minghao shakes his head. “You know, me and Vernon got gelato at the pier once.” 

“Yeah?” Mingyu’s smug smile is back. “And how many more dates have you two gone on?”

“I’ve –” Minghao frowns. “We haven’t.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“We weren’t on dates,” Minghao says. “Like, I’ve been to his house, but –” An excited whoop. “But they weren’t dates –”

“Has he been to your house?” Mingyu asks excitedly.

Minghao’s face heats up. “Yeah, but those weren’t dates.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“We just hang out,” Minghao insists. “Like how you and I hang out _._ ” 

“But you like him,” Mingyu says. “You don’t like me.”

“Yeah?” 

“So that’s a date. You just defined a date.”

“No, a date’s only a date if both people like each other.”

“Oh, so he doesn’t like you.” 

“No.” 

Mingyu frowns. “Aw.”

Minghao bites his lip. “I’m not sure.”

“Well fuckin’ ask him!”

“ _Ask_ him?” 

“Or, like, confess. Do people even do that anymore?”

Minghao sputters out laughter, incredulous. “How should I know?” _Confess_. How simple of Mingyu to think like that. Minghao slouches in his seat. “Listen, I’m not –”

“Dude, it’s almost senior year,” Mingyu says. “If he doesn’t like you back, who cares, ‘cause you’ll both be going your separate ways. You’ll forget about it.”

Minghao looks up, at the pinkish sky and the golden sun. “We hung out at the pier one time,” he says. “He told me that he isn’t scared of us not being friends anymore.” 

“Well, that’s nice.”

Minghao closes his eyes. “I like him a lot. I don’t know if I can forget.”

“...You are so dramatic.”

Minghao sighs. “I know.”

  


  


  


  


  


In the following weeks, Minghao has a series of dreams. He wrote each of them down in his diary to the best of his memory.

_1_

_I’m holding hands with someone (don’t know who, couldn’t see face) and we’re walking on grass. It was really cold but it wasn’t winter. It was kinda bright (the sun was out). And then it got dark suddenly and started raining really hard, and the hand I was holding slips out. I kept trying to grab it back but I kept failing. In the end I couldn’t hold it again._

_2_

_Me and Vernon at an arcade. I was wearing his yellow hoodie. Don’t remember anything else._

_3_

_In a red car with Vernon. He’s the one driving. Halfway through the dream the car changes into a convertible but it’s still red. Is this too weird to write down? No one’s going to read it, but it feels weird. I lean over like I’m about to kiss him but just before I do, I wake up._

That last one happened this morning, and it’s been looping in his head like a stupid short film.

Vernon visits him again in the afternoon, and this time they go to the park. Today isn’t as hot as the other days – Minghao’s wearing a thin sweater and Vernon’s got a deep green long-sleeved shirt on. His hair’s grown since the spring, the tips of the longer strands curling out softly. Minghao reaches out and flicks one. Vernon gives him a wide-eyed look, two seconds late.

“What…” 

“Your hair’s longer,” Minghao remarks.

Vernon’s fingers comb through his tresses. “Should I cut it?” 

“That’s your choice,” Minghao says. 

“I’ve never had super long hair. I wanna see how I’d look with it.” 

It’s allowed if it’s part of the conversation, so Minghao takes this opportunity to stare at his face. “I think you’d look like a busker.”

Vernon spit-laughs. “Grow your hair out with me.” He nudges Minghao. “Don’t cut it until the end of next term.” 

“That’s ridiculous. That’s such a long time.”

“No it isn’t.”

Minghao pokes him in the cheek and pushes him away. “Fine.”

Vernon nods, satisfied.

They go for the swings when they discover it’s unoccupied, Minghao running towards it and Vernon lagging behind. 

Minghao hops on one and eagerly starts swinging, kicking his legs back and forth. Vernon goes to sit on the other one, a little tentative. 

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he says, mostly to himself. He looks up at the chain, wiggling it.

“Just do what I do,” Minghao says. 

There’s a pocket of time where it’s just the sound of the swing creaking with effort as both boys soar and return, like pendulums. Once or twice Minghao is tempted to stop holding on and fly. He wouldn’t mind if he hurt himself on landing because he’d get to know the feeling of being in air, at the mercy of gravity, even if for a mere second.

He blurts out, “Is this a date?” 

Vernon doesn’t reply right away, but Minghao doesn’t expect him to reply at all. But then he asks, “Do you want it to be?”

And Minghao thinks he’s way too nice. “Do _you_?”

Vernon snorts. “You can’t just bounce the question back like that.”

“I had a dream about you,” Minghao says. “Two dreams, actually.”

Vernon nods, looking away. “What happened in them?”

“I don’t remember.”

Vernon is silent for a long, long time. Out of the corner of his eye, Minghao sees him hop off, then take a few steps away. He stands there, facing away from him. Quiet, sun-scattered.

Vernon scuffs the toe of his shoe into the dirt. “I don’t know if I want this to be a date or not.” He looks up, squinting at the clouds. “But I don’t think I’d mind if it is one.” 

That night, Minghao dreams of a thousand falling sunbeams – and Vernon, right in the middle of the brightness.

  


  


  


  


  


“I’ve been reading that book you told me about,” Mingyu says.

Minghao tucks his legs underneath his blanket. “Really?”

“Mhm.” Mingyu stuffs a spoonful of mashed potato into his mouth and disappears off-screen momentarily. He returns with a book and flips through it until he gets to the page he wants, turning it around to show Minghao. “Look how far I’m in.”

Minghao smiles. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. “I’ve been reading it whenever I can get the chance to and I honestly never would’ve thought I’d be into poems, but I really like this.”

“Told you it’s good.” Minghao stretches. “I should show it to Vernon.”

Mingyu frowns. “He looks like a guy that hates reading.”

“You look like that, too.”

Mingyu takes a gulp of apple juice, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after. “Have you told him you like him?”

“No,” Minghao says. “I have not.”

“Lame.” The knife makes a horrible sound when it grazes the plate, and both of them wince. “Fuck. Sorry. That was an accident.”

Minghao lowers the volume a little. 

“I really think –” Mingyu pauses to eat a mouthful of steak, “– that you should tell him.”

Minghao goes onto his side. “Yeah.”

“There’s two more weeks until school starts again…”

“So…”

“So tell him then.”

“Mm, I’m gonna hang up on you.”

“Don’t you fucking dare –”

  


  


  


  


  


_**autumn** _

_some days it rains_  
_but more often the air is_  
_dry and sweet_  


  


  


“That’s him,” Mingyu says, standing on his tiptoes as if he’d get a better look. “Right? It is.” 

“Chill.” Minghao pulls him down by the hand. He already knows. 

The lights turn green and Vernon tugs his ridiculously bright yellow beanie further down his head, striding towards the other side. 

It’s exciting that Minghao can now confidently say he has two friends. If his mom or dad knew about his lackluster social life growing up they’d probably be really proud of him or something. Hell, _he’s_ proud of him. Would they be proud that he’s developed a crush on the other friend? Maybe less so. 

But that hardly matters.

Vernon stops in front of him and Mingyu, eyes clear and warm, and Minghao draws a breath in.

“Hey," Minghao says.

“Hello," Vernon says. "Y’know, I came over and knocked at your door to see if we could walk together, but no one answered.”

“Ah,” Minghao says, looking down at his feet. “Well, I take off pretty early to walk my younger sister to school. And my other sister goes even earlier to work.”

Vernon tilts his head. “Your hair grew.” 

Minghao flicks his bangs out of his eyes. “You made me do it.” 

Vernon nods, as if proud. “It looks good." 

“You look okay yourself.”

Mingyu places one hand on Minghao’s shoulder and the other on Vernon’s, cutting their conversation off clean. He smiles at their bewildered faces. 

“We should hurry and get good seats for assembly.”

  


  


  


  


  


Math and English. Those are the two classes Minghao will see Vernon in. This year Minghao is saying no woodworking.

For lunch, Vernon brings Seungkwan to join them. Minghao has never talked to or seen Seungkwan outside of woodworking class before today; it feels a little weird to look up and see him sitting across from him, mouthing off about how rude some spiky-haired freshman was to him. 

“I swear to God, kids these days don’t know how to act.”

Weird, but enjoyable.

Mingyu twirls spaghetti around his fork. “You’re not much older than them.”

“Well, I don’t expect you to understand seeing as you act the same way they do half the time.”

Minghao snickers. Seungkwan turns to face him.

“Wow, I made the stone statue laugh.”

Vernon snorts, and Mingyu sneers. 

“He called you stone statue,” Mingyu says. 

“I know, I have working hearing,” Minghao bites back. 

Mingyu bares his teeth at him, and Minghao shrinks back, giving him a scandalised look. 

“You guys are strange,” Seungkwan says. He lifts his fork up, a slice of tomato speared on the end, to stop anyone from interjecting and points to everyone with it. “All of you.” He stops at Vernon. “Especially you.”

Vernon rolls his eyes. “And…”

“And...” Seungkwan eats the tomato, and chews. Everyone else falls silent, eyes fixed at Seungkwan as they continue to slowly eat. Seungkwan finally swallows, and gives each of them meaningful looks. Then takes a breath in. And says, “I love you all.”

A chorus of loud aww’s. Seungkwan sits with his face pinched as Mingyu reaches over and gives him a hard ruffle on the head. Minghao flicks his chin. Vernon pinches his cheek.

“Alright, shit, break it up, you’re getting folks to think we’re all marrying each other.”

“I’d marry into you, Seungkwan,” Mingyu says, then frowns. “Wait.”

“You don’t marry _into_ someone, fuckin’ idiot,” Minghao says.

“Wow, yeah, thanks, I realised after I said that.”

“I’d marry you all, I guess,” Seungkwan says. Vernon raises a challenging brow.

“You _guess_?” 

“You know,” Mingyu insists, leaning in and nodding. “You _know_.”

“Guys, this is coercion,” Minghao says.

“No, this is just authoritarianism,” Mingyu says.

“No, but, seriously, not to sound like a second grader, but if you had to marry someone in this table, who would it be? We’re not counting those other people that are sitting next to us.”

Vernon closes his mouth.

“Just the four of us?” Mingyu frowns, scratching his elbow. “That’s not a very big pool.”

“The fuckin’ point,” Minghao says.

“Thank you. Good to know we have some sensibility around here.” Seungkwan glares at Mingyu, who glares back. 

Vernon frowns mid-sip of his strawberry milk. “That doesn’t have the same meaning as sense.”

“Shut up, please,” Seungkwan says. “Everyone answer the question. I’ll give mine never.”

“Wait, that’s so not fair,” Vernon says, putting his carton of milk down. But Seungkwan is cutthroat and immovable.

“Answer the question.”

“I don’t have one. Mingyu, you fuckin’ go first.”

“I don’t have an answer either, I’m not marrying any of you and Seungkwan’s only a maybe.”

Seungkwan shoots Mingyu a look of horror. “A _maybe_?”

“You were –” 

“Alright, hey, I’ll go,” Minghao says, cutting into the bustle. No one quiets down like he had for some reason imagined they would; instead they stare at him like he’s a lightbulb and they’re moths. 

“Tell us now,” Mingyu demands.

“I am taking notes, ripping up those notes, and consuming them.”

Mingyu looks at Seungkwan like he’s gone insane. Seungkwan shrugs, staring him down.

“Alright, well…” Minghao puts his fork down. Vernon picks up his milk again, sipping it. There’s hardly any left, maybe three, five sips more. “Among the four of you,” he says in the perfect, unflappable tone of voice he knows he has and proudly maintains, “I’d marry Vernon.” He raises a finger when Seungkwan’s eyes widen into saucers and he immediately springs back with a hand on his chest, and another finger when Mingyu’s mouth fall open in a slowly widening grin and he looks to his right at Vernon, then back again at Minghao. Minghao gives him a hard glare that says _do not._ Mingyu brings a fist to his mouth.

“I would have said you, Mingyu,” Minghao goes on, “but you’re you.”

Seungkwan lets out a shout of laughter. “Ouch.”

Minghao blows Mingyu a kiss, which he dodges with disgust and captures in his fist. “Love you.” Mingyu feigns a shudder and slaps the “kiss” onto Vernon’s upper arm. It ends up landing on his elbow when he misses. 

“What was that for?” Vernon asks.

“ _You’re_ the one he wants to wife,” Mingyu says.

“We’re both guys.”

“I know but "husband" doesn’t work as well as wife does as a verb.”

Vernon thinks this over for a moment. “I guess not.”

Seungkwan dips a potato wedge into ketchup. “What kind of themed wedding were you guys thinking?” He looks back and forth between Vernon and Minghao in question.

“Uh…” Vernon laughs, tucking a curl of hair behind his ear that just pops back out. “We’re still thinking about it?”

Minghao nods. “It’s a process.”

Mingyu wheezes out laughter. Minghao kicks him underneath the table. 

Seungkwan shrugs. “Well, take your time.” He takes a small sip of iced coffee. “A marriage between two is a sacred and personal thing to behold, a diamond you should cup gently in your hands lest you lose everything and everyone you love –” 

“What about a marriage between three?” Mingyu heckles.

Seungkwan doesn’t hesitate to throw a piece of tomato at him and goes on undeterred, “– and therefore you have the right to commence it whenever, wherever, and however you want.”

“That… is a convoluted analogy,” Minghao says.

“You’re not using ‘analogy’ right,” Vernon says.

“In a marriage between three it’s the _thot_ that counts,” Mingyu pipes up. Seungkwan groans and pretends to shoot himself in the head, Vernon winces, and Minghao picks up his bowl of soup.

“I’ll do it. I’ll pour it over your head.” 

“Get out of here,” Seungkwan says to Mingyu, almost a plea. “Shoo.”

Minghao catches Vernon’s gaze once more, shaking his head, but this time, instead of looking away, he holds it, and Vernon holds it back.

It’s smooth, not like satin or warm tea, but like the way the autumn wind sweeps through your hair. 

(Like the way the brown of his gentle curls wrap around his neck, the way it'd feel under Minghao's lips.)

  


  


  


  


  


Kissing.

He is embarrassed to admit but constantly argues to himself that it is completely normal and understandable to think about doing it. With Vernon. Because it _is_. Totally normal. And understandable. 

Still, he keeps his diary free of this thought – he really doesn’t need to see it on paper. It’s enough to be able to formulate it at all, so he’ll spare himself the suffering.

The fourth week comes around and Minghao is officially almost brain-dead from the increasing pile of school work. It’s quizzes upon tests upon short essays upon long essays; he quickly realises that there is no excuse for slacking because there is no room for it in the first place. 

While cramming for a Psychology test one cloudy Thursday night, Mingyu says, “To hell with senior year,” flopping down onto the sky blue bean-bag he had dragged downstairs from his room and Minghao wants to be the relatable friend so badly but he can’t. He has to be the motivating one this year. 

“The more you curse the year the more you’ll curse yourself,” he reprimands, sitting cross-legged on Mingyu’s family’s burnt orange couch with a pen tucked behind his ear and a highlighter in his hand, skating through a sentence on paper. 

Mingyu pushes the heels of his hands against his eyes and makes a long whine of suffering. “I don’t wanna study about ethical studies related to research considerations anymore.” 

“You mean ethical considerations related to research studies.” 

“Shut the hell up.”

Minghao throws an eraser at him. It bounces off the side of his head, but Mingyu stays starfished on the beanbag. “Come on,” he urges. “We have three more dot points.”

Mingyu breathes out slowly, bringing his hands on his stomach. “I wonder what Vernon’s doing now,” he says. Minghao quirks a brow. 

“Probably the same thing as we are.” 

“Does he take Psych too?” Mingyu asks.

“Yeah, he’s in the Monday class,” Minghao replies.

“Wow, you’re a Vernon Encyclopedia, aren’t you.” Mingyu grins, sending a look his way. “What’s his favourite colour? His worst nightmare?”

“Oh my God.”

“What about his ideal date? His deepest kinks –” 

Minghao flushes red. “Get _out_ of this place.”

“This is my house, _you_ get out.”

“No, I meant, like, this planet.” 

Mingyu glares. “Shut up, soggy noodle.”

“Oh I didn’t know I was inspiration for your shit cooking,” Minghao says.

“Nice, you just insulted me _and_ yourself.” Mingyu chortles at his own dig and ducks when Minghao hurls another eraser at him at lightning speed.

Minghao thinks he’s awfully lucky Mingyu doesn’t have telepathic powers. 

  


  


  


  


  


When Minghao finally gets to see Vernon outside of school, it’s on a Sunday. He told Minghao about his new car. 

“ _Wow_.” Minghao jogs up to Vernon’s driveway, gaping at it. He walks a circle around it before stopping next to Vernon. “This is... this is amazing. So pretty.”

It’s a pick-up the colour of terracotta. It doesn’t gleam in the sunlight and it doesn’t have white wheels, but it’s perfect and more Vernon than Minghao could have ever imagined. 

Vernon stuffs his hands into the pockets of his red and white windbreaker, gazing proudly at it. “Dad says we can give it a spin.”

Minghao looks at him. “Really?” 

Vernon turns and calls out, “Right, Dad?”

Vernon’s dad, sat on the swinging bench on the patio, looks up and squints, adjusting his spectacles. He yells a garbled, “What?” and Vernon flashes him a thumbs up. 

“He said yeah.” Vernon turns to Minghao. 

“Then let’s go.” Minghao grins.

“I like that idea,” Vernon agrees.

  


  


Their first stop was the convenience store. They grabbed snacks they didn’t really need and when Minghao realised he didn’t bring money with him Vernon told him not to worry. 

“Consider this pay back for the ice cream last month,” he said.

“Gelato,” Minghao corrected. “Thank you.” 

Vernon slowly drove them to the beach, Minghao sitting shotgun treating himself to a fruit roll-up. 

“During autumn?” Minghao protested, the end of the roll-up dangling from his mouth. Vernon pulled the brakes and turned the engine off. “Why?”

“The beach is the beach no matter what season.” Vernon unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed the door open.

Minghao rolled his eyes, following suit.

“It’s so much colder here,” he protests, a little breathless. Their sneakers crunch on the sand below, the sound mingling with the soft whispers of the waves, still weak and barely awake in the early afternoon. 

“More winds,” Vernon says.

“My hands are freezing.”

Vernon offers his hand. Minghao takes it. 

“Now I can’t eat my fruit roll-up,” Minghao says.

“Then don’t hold my hand.”

“I’d rather stay warm.” 

“Well, okay then.” 

They walk along the stretch of the beach, leaving footprints behind for no one to find. The silence that falls around them is different now. Better. Vernon pipes up about how he’d love to have a dog to play fetch with here. 

The sand is cold on Minghao’s palms. Vernon sits with his legs crossed leaning back on his hands. Minghao rests his cheek on his knee. 

“Still cold?” Vernon asks. Minghao shakes his head.

“Not really. You?”

“No.”

Across the sky, a bird calls out to whoever’s around. Minghao sighs and lets his head fall on Vernon’s shoulder. 

“I miss hot weather,” he cries out. “We should invite Mingyu and Seungkwan out here when it’s warmer and make a bonfire.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s the best. We could roast marshmallows.” 

“Damn. Yeah. I’m down.” 

You push a button on a machine and it’d whirr to life. Realistically no one human operates quite as straightforwardly as that. There’d always be an element of surprise when it comes to starting something, no matter how you do it, or what it is. 

Minghao sits up. “If I kissed you, would it be too weird?” 

No matter who feels it.

Vernon glances at him. “How sudden.”

“I know.” 

“Well. Try it. See how it goes.”

Minghao shakes his head. “You’re way too casual about this.”

“Well, how am I supposed to act?”

Minghao presses his lips against the soft of Vernon’s cheek, something small and not really there yet. He smiles at his surprised face. “Do you have your retainers on?” he asks.

“No, I took it off.” Dust rose spreads across Vernon’s face and neck like lava. Minghao watches it with rapt fascination. “I’ve had it off since the beginning of the semester.”

Minghao laughs. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I never noticed. It was always a part of you.”

“Yeah, for way too long.” 

“I just didn’t want you to kiss me with your retainers on.”

“You were expecting me to kiss you?”

Minghao backs away and runs a hand through his hair, shaking it out of his eyes. “I need to cut my damn hair.”

Vernon leans in, and it’s quick, the same kind of quick as Minghao’s, but it buzzes, explodes, multiplies in Minghao’s guts.

He wonders – is it the same with Vernon? He watches Vernon breathe out, the ocean in his eyes.

“Thanks for finally letting me do that.”

The answer, unequivocal, like a wave.

  


  


  


  


  


“You look different.”

Mingyu hovers in front of him, staring weirdly. It's Monday again. Starting the week off with Biology with Mingyu isn't the worst way.

Minghao looks up from the book he was reading. “How do you mean?”

“Holy shit.” Mingyu staggers backwards. “Something happened.” 

“Did you do the readings?” Minghao ignores his accusation. Mingyu scoffs.

“Did I do the readings,” he mutters, then slips into his seat. “Do you even know who I am?” He begins taking out his notebook and pencil case.

“I’m guessing you didn’t,” Minghao says.

“You shouldn’t have to guess.” Mingyu taps the side of Minghao’s head. “It should already be in there. But, well, I guess it’s been occupied by someone else for a while now.” He wiggles his brows and Minghao would flick the skin and bone between them, give him what-for, but he is frozen by the memory of Vernon’s cheek under his lips, then Vernon’s lips under _his_ cheek –

“See, see?” Mingyu’s voice comes. “You’re all different again.”

Minghao cracks a quiet smile. “I’m really glad you can’t read minds.”

“Yuck.”

Minghao slips his book back into his bag and takes out his laptop, brazen. “Go find Seungkwan if you feel abandoned.” 

Mingyu falters. “Why him?” 

Minghao shakes his head. “Oh, Mingyu.” 

  


  


  


  


  


Minghao’s knee clicks when he leans his weight against Vernon, curling his legs in towards his chest. He presses his head in the crook between Vernon’s neck and shoulder, Vernon’s left arm coming around to wrap around his middle. His right wrist rests lithely on Minghao’s knee, hand dangling from it.

“I hate exams,” Minghao says. 

“I hate you guys,” Seungkwan spits, flash-cards containing miscellaneous French expressions the teacher recommended them to memorise in his hands.

They’re at Vernon’s house, spread out in a sort-of-circle in the living room. Minghao has officially known Vernon for almost two winters, one summer, one spring, and one autumn. There’s something wonderful about that that he can’t comprehend right now.

“What’s sandcastle again?” Mingyu scratches his cheek, frowning. 

“ _Chateau de sable_ ,” Seungkwan supplies. 

“Let’s never get old,” Minghao says, above all noise, above all thoughts.

Vernon tells him that sounds great. Seungkwan tells him let’s pass these exams first. Mingyu asks them if _chateau_ has a hat on the _a_ or not.

What will happen, Minghao thinks. The winds will come, the grass will wither; sunlight will linger and ice will melt. Maybe that kiss will mean nothing two or three years from now but Vernon will always be around to reappear, just like the seasons. He closes his eyes, feeling Vernon shift under his weight. 

Even if Minghao doesn’t know how to finish the rest of that particular line of thought, he figures, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because the way Mingyu lets out a whoop every time he memorises a phrase correctly, Seungkwan’s singing voice when randomly breaks out into a song mid-sentence, Vernon’s fingers absently threading through the hair on Minghao’s nape – 

– it’s enough for this pocket of time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [honks horn] 
> 
> ❤

**Author's Note:**

> ok the third thing..  
> i totally fucked up organising the school terms and seasons bc i am what? a bumb ditch 
> 
> my brain gurgling because it’s gotten used to both american high school terms and australian uni terms and using BOTH AT THE SAME TIME HOW DOES THAT WORK and then gurgling some more upon realising that i’d have to upend the whole story if i were to change things. so i didn't. because i didn't wanna gurgle. also creative liberty am i right! ladles (i'm not i'm sorry)
> 
> 10 out of 10 doctors recommend that you suspend your disbelief (for a high school au. i know. but. please) and imagine a subset of a high school au that plays around with time a lil bit ;) how spicy is that ;)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for and everything means everything](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15547152) by [svtbigbang_mod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/svtbigbang_mod/pseuds/svtbigbang_mod)




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